Graduating into Adulthood

Graduation Into Adulthood     www.joyinthesemoments.com

I graduated into adulthood yesterday.

Well, technically, I was an adult at 18. It’s just taken me 15 years to feel like one, I guess.

I used to think that being an adult would be the most grand and glorious thing. No one to tell me what to do. No one to tell me how to act. I could do what I want, when I wanted it. I could shop all day, have an awesome home, and eat at the trendiest restaurants. I’d have no worries – because I was an adult.
“Well, what about your bills?” I know you’re thinking it. Well…Paying bills? Heck! I’d have an awesome job as a pop singer and someone would be paid to pay my bills. I had all the answers, y’all.

And somewhere along the way, plans changed. I realized that I would not be the next Christian version of Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera. (Don’t laugh. I was totally going for that in my mind! Really. It was a great plan. Just poorly executed.)
Somewhere along the way, I traded those dreams of stardom for student loans, 4th graders, a life in a town that’s 10x smaller than where I grew up, and a toddler that likes to spit her unwanted food into my hand (under the guise of kissing my hand). Somewhere along the way, I traded in my childhood and fantastical teenage dreams for those better suited an adult.

And that’s totally ok. I’m not complaining.

Still, somehow, my brain did not catch up with my body and actions. My brain still feels like an uncertain and insecure 16 year old sometimes. Two years into raising a little human and I still sometimes feel like I’m playing house. But yesterday, all that changed.

Yesterday, while in “the big city”, I went to Sam’s Club to pick up a couple of things. No biggie. Do it all the time. However, it’s not every day that a jerk with Napoleon complex tries to run you and your daughter over. Seriously. We were walking in the crosswalk area where most courteous people stop and allow you to walk across with little to no bloodshed. This guy? He smirked at me, then revved the engine of his overly-orange-ugly-as-sin-midlife-crisis-purchase and gunned it past my daughter and I, barely missing us.

I was livid. Me? I can handle it. Scaring my daughter and nearly hitting her? Oh no, buddy. You brought out the mama bear.

Then, somehow, the inconsiderate man parks his automobile atrocity in front of my mom-mobile. It’s like the heavens were taunting me. Y’all, it was all I could do to not go up to his door, bang on the window and give him a piece of my mind. For several minutes, during unloading our purchase and texting my sister and best friend, I seriously contemplated leaving a pretty nasty letter explaining all the things this person did wrong. They were not nice words either. Just ask my sister and my friend. Pretty sure I blew up their phones.

But, I didn’t.
I controlled myself. I controlled myself because my daughter would be observing every minute I wasted on that man. She would hear the less-than-Christian words that would come out of my mouth if I were to speak to him, and I don’t want that to be the example of adulthood that she remembers. I controlled myself, because that’s what adults do. They do the uncomfortable. They control their impulses. They access the maturity that lies deep within them and allows them to do the things they really don’t want to do.

Deep down, I still hope that something scratches that ugly car, because it is in SERIOUS need of a paint job. I mean, Oompa-Loompa orange, guys. But, I can at least sleep knowing that I graduated into adulthood by NOT being the one to “accidentally” push the grocery cart into his passenger door.

Linking up today at Time Warp Wife